‘To be recognized meant arrest and trial. Following D’Arcy led him to the silver, and after the murder Morgan Park stood within reach of enough money to take him to South America to live in style.
“But he must have realized that he dared not connect his name with that of D’Arcy. Arnold had filed on the claim. He could do nothing until the assessment work lapsed, and even then to take up the claim of a man who had disappeared, and when investigation might establish a connection, was a risk he dared not take.”
Supposition, much of it, but the only logic that would fit the facts.
So as the hot morning drew on into a hotter day, I built the case I had. Not much evidence, but logic enough.
Unable to make use of his discovery, Morgan Park had gone to Booker. The lawyer could find a buyer, keep Park’s name out of it, and if the two ranches could be obtained, the claims might even be worked in secret. D’Arcy had evidently bribed the recorder to let out no word of the discovery.
Morgan Park had been content to work along with Rud Maclaren, believing he would sooner or later win out. But he had kept in touch with Jim Finder. To this Finder acknowledged with a short nod.
And then into this stewing pot of conflicting issues and desires, I stepped.
By joining Ball I had upset the balance of power and made the certainty of the Two-Bar falling into other hands extremely doubtful.
Morgan Park still believed he could win. He was a man who had not been beaten, and he was confident. Jake Booker had been less so. Although Booker had, in my presence, doubted any belief that I had been implicated in the shooting of Lyell, he actually believed I had. The idea was upsetting.
Booker wanted the claims for himself. There was a chance that Morgan Park might be killed or arrested. Booker was already delving into Park’s past, knowing there must be some reason for his great secrecy.
The assessment work D’Arcy had done on the claims had long since lapsed, but Morgan Park had dared not file on them and risk questions. The silver claims lay on land claimed by both the Two-Bar and the Boxed M, but if both ranches could be had…
“Lies.” Booker was composed now. He was fighting for his life and he knew it, yet he was lawyer enough to see that I had little evidence.
Tom Fox was a lean, tough man. He leaned over the table.
“Some of us are satisfied, Booker,” he said quietly. “Have you got any arguments that will answer a rope?”
Booker’s face thinned down. “The law will protect me. Tharp’s here … and no jury on earth will convict me on that evidence. As for the track you say you found? How do you know it hasn’t been wiped out?”
I didn’t know. Neither did anybody else. Canaval looked at me, and so did Tharp. There was nothing I could say to that.
“Aw, turn him loose!” Fox said carelessly. “We all know he’s a crook. But turn him loose. Rud Maclaren was a good boss, and I was with Canaval when he found that track. I ain’t no ‘Pache, but I can read sign. Just you turn him loose. There’s a mighty nice pin oak down the road a piece.”
Jake Booker spread his fingers on the table. He was a frightened man. Argument and evidence might stand with Tharp, with Chapin, with Canaval, and with me. He knew he had no argument to reply to Fox.
Fox turned to the man at the door. “Joe, get an extry horse. We’ll be needin’ it.”
Tharp began to fill his pipe. Nobody else said anything or moved. Then Key Chapin leaned back in his chair. The chair creaked a little, and Booker shifted his weight, looking up quickly at Fox.
Nothing I had said had moved Booker to more than contempt. For nothing I had said would stand up in court against the artifice Booker could bring to bear. But Fox was doing what I could not have done. Booker had looked into the eyes of Fox and there was certainty there.
A boot track to a skilled reader of sign is as good as a signature.
Jake Booker was a plotter and a conniver. He was not a courageous man. Will Tharp has said nothing. Chapin had obviously washed his hands of the situation. I was letting Fox do the talking. And Jake Booker was frightened.
The rest of us might bluff, but never Fox. The rest of us might relent, but not Fox. Booker’s mouth twitched and his face was wet with sweat.
“No … no.”
He looked around at us. He looked at me. “You can’t let him hang me. Not without a trial.”
“Did Maclaren have a trial?”
Booker shifted his hands on the table. He knew there was a man behind him. And Fox was across from him. And nobody was doing anything.
“Morgan Park killed him,” Booker said. “It wasn’t me.”
He was talking. Once started, he might continue. It had not been Park, and we all knew it now.
“Where is Park?”
“Dead … Park killed his horse getting away. He came up to that Apache tracker of Finder’s. The Apache had a good black. Morgan Park knocked him off the horse when the Apache wouldn’t trade … the Indian shot him out of the saddle.”
“You saw it?” D’Acy asked.
“Yes … you’ll find his body in a gully west of Bitter Flats. Park had started for the Reef.”
Booker sat very still, waiting for us, but we did not speak. He shifted uneasily. Tharp would say nothing, and Booker knew that if he left here now he would be taken by Fox and the Boxed M riders. After that there was only the short ride to a tree.
“Tell us the truth,” Chapin said finally. “If you get a trial you will have a chance.”
“If I confess?” His voice was bitter. “What chance would I have then?”
“You’ll live a few weeks, anyway,” I said brutally. “What chance have you now?”
He sat back in his chair. Tve nothing to confess,” he said. “It was Morgan Park.”
Will Tharp got up from his chair. “You asked me here to conclude a peace meeting. The Boxed M, Two-Bar, and CP agree on peace, is that right?”
We all assented, and he nodded with satisfaction. “Good … now I’ve some business in the northern part of the county. I’ll be gone for three days.”
It took a minute for Booker to grasp the idea that he was being abandoned. He looked up, his eyes shifting quickly. The man behind him eased his weight and a board creaked.
Key Chapin got up. He extended a hand to Canaval. “Be glad to help you across the street, Canaval.” He turned his head to Moira. “Coming?”
She got up. Katie O’Hara had disappeared. Jim Finder, a wry grin on his face, got up, too. They started for the door and Jake Booker looked wildly about. Fox was across from him, smiling. Behind him was the other Boxed M hand. Outside the door with an extra horse was still another.
“Wait!”
Booker jumped to his feet. His face was yellow-white and he looked ghastly.
“Tharp! You can’t do this! You can’t leave me!”
“Why not? I’ve no business with you!”
“But … but the trial? What about the trial?”
Tharp shrugged. “What trial? We haven’t evidence enough to hold you. You said that yourself.” He turned away. “You’re not my business now, Booker.”
Fox had drawn his gun. The Boxed M hand behind Booker grabbed him suddenly. I stepped back, my hands at my sides.
“Wait a minute! Tharp—”
The sheriff was outside, but he was holding the door open. The others were on the walk near him.
“Tharp! I did it. I’ll talk.”
There was a tablet on which Katie O’Hara wrote up her menus. I took it down, and put the inkwell beside it, and a pen.
“Write it,” I said.
He hesitated, looking down. His hands trembled and he looked sick.
“All right,” he said.
He sat down when the Boxed M hand released him, and Tharp returned to the room. He looked over at me and we waited, standing around, while the pen scratched steadily.
Jonathan Benaras appeared in the door. “Bodie Miller’s gone,” he said. “Left town.”
Moira was still standing on the walk outside. The others had gone. I opened the door and stepped out.
“You’re going back to the Two-Bar?” she asked.
“Even a killer has to have a home.”
She looked up quickly. “Matt, don’t hold that against me.”
“You said what you thought, didn’t you?”
I started to put my foot in the stirrup, but she looked too much like a little girl who had been spanked. “Did you ever start that trousseau?” I asked suddenly.